


Learning that Balance

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Depression, M/M, after season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Kurt and Blaine in the loft between seasons 5 and 6, trying hard to learn how this living together thing works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning that Balance

_“We’re caught in a trap,_

_I can’t walk out,_

_Because I love you too much, baby.”_

That’s it. There was no way around it. Kurt was just going to have to _kill_ Elliott for introducing Blaine to Elvis Karaoke. His fiance’s voice echoed wonderfully off the tiles in the shower, and bounced around the larger space of the loft and seemed to settle over their bed. Kurt could just picture it; he had probably lathered his hair up into a big ol’ pompadour. And it was cute, really. It was. God knows, Blaine was singing the heck out of the song.

But. But it was Tuesday, and that meant his morning dance elective was ballet, which could only be scheduled after 10, which meant Kurt could sleep at least another hour. And Blaine had forgotten, again, because every other morning of the week they were dashing out the door together to an 8:30 or 9:00 class. And every other morning, the singing was to a (usually) receptive audience of one as they jockeyed around each other in the tiny bathroom. At one time, it had been duets, but it had been a long time since Kurt had last been coaxed into singing on these cold mornings.

He tried not to let the resentment build up. But it did. It did even though Blaine’s singing was confident and sure, something that had been missing for days. Kurt knew it didn’t really matter who it was, no matter how much he loved them, a part of him HATED everyone in the early mornings—Rachel with her scales, Blaine with his shower performances (he just knew a tube of shower gel was being used as a microphone as Blaine launched into the bridge) —he just wanted them silenced.

He groaned, rolled away, and pulled Blaine’s pillow over on top of his ear to block out as much as he could. The pipes thumped as Blaine stepped out of the shower and the concert thankfully ended. He was almost dozing despite holding himself rigid in his distaste, when Blaine pushed through the curtain with coffee and bagels.

“Hey! Shower’s free, sleepyhead!”

Kurt drew his legs away sharply when Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed. “Kurt? What’s the matter?”

He rolled over and fixed Blaine with his fiercest gimlet eye.

“Oh, God! I forgot again…Do you not want the coffee?” He went to stand and remove the tray, but Kurt sighed and grabbed his arm.

“NEVER take coffee away from me, Blaine. There will be consequences. Consequences.”

“Worse than my punishment for ruining your beauty sleep?” His eyes were big and bright, trying for sincerity and apology, but Kurt could tell Blaine was clearly hoping to get a smile out of him and just as eagerly hoping to avoid another listing of his faults.

Kurt took pity on him, sighed, and struggled to a sitting position. “Thanks for the coffee, B, if not for the concert. I should get up and study for my kinesiology exam. And the loft this morning might be my only chance for silence to study before Thursday.”

“You could ride in with me and use the library.”

“Last week, Hunter and the other kids in Coogan’s improv class did a campy performance of _Fame_ in the stacks. Not quite what I’m looking for.”

“How didn’t I hear about that? Must have been awesome!” Blaine sat primly on the bed’s edge, sipping at his coffee, his plate balanced on his towel-clad lap.

“Yeah, awesome. You DO like your public spectacles, after all.”

“I happen to have it on good authority that you participated in a _Can’t Touch This_ invasion of the McKinley library.”

“I was a child, Blaine. A CHILD!”

“My point still stands.” He licked a trickle of strawberry jam off his finger. “I am sorry I woke you, though. I’ll try to remember. Put some sort of calendar in the bathroom.”

He accepted the apology wearily, his smile tight. He had no illusions that Blaine would be any quieter the rest of the week. Lately, to Kurt, the other man was just _noisy:_ noisy and happy, singing or playing video games with Artie, or noisy and miserable, cursing to himself over homework or ranting on the phone about NYADA’s poisonous social life to Sam or Tina or one of those younger girls, Marley or Unique. But noisy. And ever present.

Blaine’s shoulders slumped, and he stood to take the tray with their breakfast dishes away. “Well, I need to get moving. I have to be early for tap class. I just need to work more on my cincinnatis. I keep just missing count. I HAVE to be faster.”

Kurt got out of bed and trailed after him into the kitchen, pulling on the thick black robe his Dad had given him after spending that first cold Christmas in the loft. Blaine was standing at the sink, towel around his waist topped with his short summerweight robe, his head down as he rinsed the glasses out. Kurt stepped up behind him and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks for breakfast. I’m just—I don’t know—work was a bitch last night.”

Blaine rested his head back against Kurt’s shoulder for a long minute, tension easing out of him. He patted Kurt’s arm, threw him a real smile, and headed back to get dressed.

When the door slid shut behind him 5 minutes later, Kurt was already at the table, his laptop and textbooks and notecards spread around him. The quiet settled over him, the not-quite silence of the loft, broken as it was by the old pipes groaning as his neighbors began their days, the swish and rumble of the buses passing by in the street, and the music from Madame Angelina’s Little Dancers studio already starting up across the way. He walked to the window and watched Blaine’s back as he hurried to the corner to catch that bus, his dance bag slung across his shoulder, his smile ready for any who would look up to greet him. 

He was relieved to see that smile. He worried sometimes that they seemed more likely to infect each other with their foul moods than the opposite. But it looked like this was a good day for Blaine still. They _had_ to figure this out; it seemed to Kurt that the secret to their happiness lay in each of them finding a balance. Too much together time, and Kurt felt caged. Too much alone time, and Blaine began to brood.

As he turned to pour another cup of coffee, he thought his thousandth “If only” of the month. If only Blaine could see having this one morning a week to himself as a good thing. Yeah, and if only Kurt could do the same, make use of the free time rather than craving more. He slapped the mug down in frustration and returned to his studies, letting the muted sounds from the street calm him as he hit his rhythm.

**Author's Note:**

> I was interested in exploring the "Why?" of the second breakup. I found that knowing it informed my thinking about all the moments that came before. But I also started explicitly examining it in some of these Advent fills. This is the first.


End file.
